


cry to your heart's own beat

by sabinelagrande



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dark!Charles, F/M, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, I am a sick fuck, M/M, Mind Control, Nipple Play, Possessive Behavior, Wrist Cuffs, dirtybadwrong, my id let me show you it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's worse when he <em>doesn't</em> use his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cry to your heart's own beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cesare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/gifts).



Tonight, she's kneeling on the floor, naked, and she's starting to get cold. Her hands are already bound behind her, thick leather cuffs without so much as a metal stud in them, and that's a bad sign. Most nights he does it with his mind, stops her from lashing out with just a thought; the nights he doesn't are the worst, because it means every bit of him is freed up, every iota of his attention at his disposal.

And he uses it.

The door finally swings open. There he is, and he's smiling, it seems like he's always smiling. He's wearing a pair of grey trousers and an argyle sweater; he pulls the sweater over his head and puts it on a chair, leaving him in a blue button-down shirt that's almost the color of his eyes. It doesn't seem right for a dictator to dress like an elementary school teacher, but that's Xavier all over.

He toes off his shoes and socks, and then he pads over, squatting down in front of her. "Hello, sweetheart." She just stares at him, giving him the blackest look she can muster, but he chuckles. "Is that all you've got for me today?"

"Go to hell," she snaps, and she regrets it immediately. She could handle a reprisal, but she won't get one, not this early; instead, his smile widens, and that's so much worse.

"Now you sound a bit more like yourself," he says, as if he knows her, as if he knows _anything_ about her. He leans forward and grabs a handful of her short hair, pulling her head back and kissing her. He doesn't take her over, not yet, even though she's biting at him, because he'd already been ready for that, knew she'd do it without even using his mind. She'll fight him, she'll fight back every single time; that's a disadvantage, from a strategic standpoint, because it makes her so predictable, makes him know what to expect from her, lets him plan in advance. 

She knows all this, and she can't bring herself to do anything else. She's never been able to; you'd think she would have learned by now, seeing as she's been owned by someone or another far longer than she's ever been free, but part of her hopes she never learns.

He lets her go; she pulls sharply away, but it doesn't seem to deter him. He smooths his hands down her sides and back up again; it's not even sexual, really, more like he's trying to gentle her than anything else. She gives him a murderous look, because it's so typical of him. He thinks he's going to break her, tame her like an animal; she doesn't know what's supposed to happen after that. That's fine, because there's not going to _be_ an "after that." She'll never give up, never submit to him willingly, and if she does, well-

She doesn't know that part yet, but she's making plans.

He shifts forward, getting onto his knees, bringing himself down to her level. She's actually taller than he is, and she's reminded of it right then, with their bodies so close. He kisses her again, and the time he's the one controlling it, making it long, unhurried, sensual; she's starting to respond, and she hates it, always hopes to god it's him doing it and not her body betraying her.

One of his hands finds her breast, cupping it; she squirms as he pinches at her nipple, twisting just a little. He tightens his fingers a little more and her hips jerk. He's doing something awful to her, has been doing it all along, making her equate pleasure and pain. He smiles when he does it, even more than usual, and he always blames it on her, as if she wanted it and never knew, just needed him to show her. It's bullshit, complete bullshit, but still it's getting worse, she's still sinking.

His hand moves down, tracing the curve of her slender waist; suddenly he reaches down with both hands and shoves her knees apart. She gasps in shock, pulling away from his mouth, but he just grabs her by the hair again, pressing their lips back together. He slides his hand in between her thighs; she's spread out now, wide enough that his hand fits against her easily, wide enough for her to feel ashamed.

That feeling only gets worse, because she's wet, enough so that his fingers move easily over her. He pulls away from her mouth so he can watch as he pushes his fingers in for the first time; she tries to show as little of a reaction as possible, but he sees something he likes anyway, grinning at her. He adds another, three now, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he moves them, and she groans, despite herself, wishing she could swallow it back down.

He's so good with his hands, better than anyone she's ever known, and he's not going easy on her. He's not going to stop until she comes, and it's not going to take long, not at this rate. This is one of those nights when he's going to do it again and again, until she's pleading, crying, until she's asking for more with one breath and begging him to stop with the next. Fucking her is one thing, something she's somehow learned to handle; fucking her just proves that she's powerless. Making her come means that she's _hope_ less, that every part of her is already his, mind and body.

Some days it feels like she's losing her grip on her soul, too.

"No," she says, trying to struggle away from him, trying to pretend like she wasn't just rocking against his hand.

"Look at me," he says, and her eyes snap to him. He slides his fingers out of her, stroking her with his fingertips, only dipping in the tiniest bit when he grazes over her. "This is mine," he says, and his expression is dark. "This is my hole to fuck, and I'll do whatever I like with it." He shoves two fingers in hard, hard enough that she hisses in pain. "Now say it."

Talking is the last thing on her mind, but when she opens her mouth to curse at him, that's not what comes out. "Please," her voice says, Xavier's words behind it. "I'm yours," she moans, and even though she knows that it's not her, it's bad enough, it's bad enough to know that she doesn't even have control of her own words. It wouldn't be nearly so bad if it wasn't pitch perfect; it's not the sound of her voice, but everything that goes along with it. It could easily be so over-the-top, done all out just to inflate Xavier's ego, but instead it's such a good imitation of what she sounds like when she _wants_ it. "I'm such a _slut_ ," she says, and she's shaking her head but the words keep coming out. "Do what you want to me, I want you to fuck me so badly, _please_ fuck me-"

He pulls back and slaps her right over her cunt, and she cries out, of her own volition; it feels so good and so bad at once, the sting on her skin and the thud behind it, the momentum of it going all the way through her. He does it twice more, and now it's nearly impossible not to moan. Xavier goes ahead and clicks whatever's holding her back right off, and it seems so loud when she does it, reverberating off the cold, blank walls. "That's better," he says, kissing her forehead, incongruously sweet.

She's breathing heavily, so hard she's shaking, so hard she's afraid she's going to hyperventilate, and she hates him so much, hates him more than almost anyone she's ever known, but that doesn't stop her from pushing against his hand for more. He pulls her forward, resting her chin on his shoulder, sliding a hand onto her back while the other works at her frantically. "Charles," she whines, unable to stop herself, and she bites down on her lip hard enough to hurt.

"That's it, darling," he says, moving his hand faster. "Just give it to me."

She's right there, she's almost, and the instant it starts he pushes her back so he can see, watch her as she comes. It's so, so good and it's not worth it at all, not when the price is having to see the look on Xavier's face, his wide-eyed, almost amazed smile.

She shuts her eyes, resting her forehead against Xavier's shoulder, and he puts his arms around her. It's uncomfortably familiar, companionable, but she's mostly doing it so she won't have to look at him. She really wants to cry, but she pulls it in; it's too early for that, because it means Xavier wins. It definitely doesn't mean he'll stop, and it might just make him do it harder.

He gives her a long time to recover before finally pulling away; she feels miserable, but at least she's not shaking anymore. He lets her go and stands up, walking over to the chest on the other side of the room and opening it. Maybe it's not going to be as bad as she thinks tonight; he's already offering her little kindnesses, not making it as hard as it could be.

She looks up when the chest closes again; when he turns around, he's got the strap in one hand and the ratchet gag in the other. 

Things have just gone from bad to worse.


End file.
